


Early Morning

by LadyoftheWoods



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Just some Crowley/Aziraphale cuteness.





	Early Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some fluff to make up for all the angst lately. Stands on it's own, but I imagine it takes place after Memories and Hopes

He woke slowly, blinking irritably at the bright sunbeam brushing across his face. For a moment he couldn’t place where he was. Then there was a soft exhale of breath beside him, and he felt an exhilarating rush of happiness as he rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow.  
There was Aziraphale, his beautiful Angel. His. For now and for forever.  
He was smiling in his sleep, one arm across his chest, the other pillowing his head. The light brushed across his white blond hair, mussed from sleep, so different from his usual put together look. He had crinkles around his eyes, around his mouth, marks from smiling so much, laughing so much.  
Crowley could remember every single time he’d made the angel laugh, every time Aziraphale had smiled for him. If asked, he could list them off in chronological order starting at Eden, trophies polished to a golden shine in his mind.   
He loved Aziraphale. He could feel his love pulsing through his heart as he watched him dreaming, a trickle of drool pooling onto his pillow, making Crowley smile softly.   
Crowley loved his smile, his brilliant blue eyes that sparkled with ideas, with cleverness. He loved the million little ways he puttered about when nervous, he could identify them all. Adjusting his jacket meant he felt awkward, put on the spot. Fluttering hands meant anxious, unsure. Hands flat, almost patting the air, meant I won’t even consider this, just stop.   
He loved the thousand different ways Aziraphale had of saying his name. CrOWley, high and exasperated, usually accompanied with a hand flutter. croowleey, low and surprised, CrowLEY, questioning and unsure, crowly, a whisper, a reassurance, CRoWley, sharp and scolding.   
He’d had 6000 years to categorize Aziraphale’s every inflection, every hidden meaning behind every word, every gesture, every subtle tick and subconscious response. And still, he was fascinated, utterly enthralled, by his every word, every breath, every movement.  
And finally, finally, they were here, together. He felt giddy with sudden disbelief, sudden awe and pure expansive light that filled his chest.  
He couldn’t help it anymore, he reached out, caressing Aziraphale’s cheek, tracing his jawline down to his lips. He closed the distance between them, kissing the tip of Aziraphale’s nose, opening his eyes to find Ziri’s crinkled blues smiling back at him.  
“Good morning, Crowley.” He said, voice cracked and hoarse from sleep, still only half awake. That was a new version of his name to add to the catalogue, Crowley, filled with millenia of repressed love, softness, tenderness. That early morning sleepy drawl.   
He grinned, tipping Aziraphale’s face down to his, kissing him slow and soft for a long, long moment, before sighing, wrapping his arms around Ziri’s neck, resting his head against the angel’s chest. He reveled in his closeness, in his warmth, in his so familiar, so purely Aziraphale, scent.  
“G’morning, Angel Mine.” Crowley breathed out. He could feel Aziraphale’s golden smile at his words, feel his pleasure in the way he shifted closer, resting his head atop Crowley’s, sighing into his hair and bringing his arms around the demon’s waist.  
Aziraphale glowed with happiness, with such radiant joy and peace that it seeped into Crowley’s bones, filling him with a sense of rightness. For once he was stilled, the restless desire to move, to pace, to do was gone. There was nowhere, nowhere in all the universe he would rather be than right here in his angel’s arms.   
“I love you, ‘Ziraphale. More than I know what to do with.” He murmured, snapping his fingers to close the blinds, snuggling deeper under the covers, closer to Ziri’s warmth. His snake self was always cold, always looking for heat. He let his eyes drift closed again, content.  
“I know dear. I know.” He didn’t have to say it. Crowley could feel his love, feel it more deeply and truly than any words in any language could ever hope to express.  
And he knew, just as surely as Aziraphale was his, he belonged heart and soul to the angel. He was Aziraphale’s, truly for forever.


End file.
